


Sebastian

by dornfelder



Series: Translated Works [5]
Category: Under sandet | Land of Mine (2015)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Minor Character Death, Period-Typical Homophobia, Prisoner of War, Translation, Traumatic Experiences, World War II, mental and physical abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 23:51:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18861481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dornfelder/pseuds/dornfelder
Summary: Sebastian doesn't try to pander to Rasmussen, doesn't suck up to him, regardless of what Helmut says, he just wants … He doesn't know, precisely, what it is that he wants, maybe just for Rasmussen to see him as a person, not a loathsome German wearing a uniform. That Rasmussen permits him to be more than some pale face, one soldier among many.





	Sebastian

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Sebastian](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18814546) by [dornfelder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dornfelder/pseuds/dornfelder). 



> A translation of my own German fic. Considering that this is such a niche fandom, I felt I had no choice but to translate it into English. It's actually the first time I've done this; I usually write in English _or_ in German. I'm also fairly adept at translating stuff from English into German, but it takes a lot longer when I do it the other way round.
> 
> [The movie can be found here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wplWFUl8hVM&t=3126s) \- it's the original version with English subtitles. I'm not sure whether a dubbed version exists somewhere. In any case, since most of the dialogue is rather straightforward, it shouldn't be that much of a problem. 
> 
> I have to admit, though, for a native German speaker, this movie is a special treat. The Danish actors sound ridiculously cute even as their characters are saying very mean things. :) 
> 
> Large parts of the dialogue are taken directly from the movie. I did translate them into English, but they aren't mine. 
> 
> On a related note, I decided to keep the original form of address the boys are using in the movie – mostly for authenticity. Germans don't use _sir_ the same way Americans do, instead, military personnel is addressed by _(Herr/Frau + Military rank)_ , so _Herr Feldwebel_ or _Frau General_. I compromised by turning _jawohl_ into _yes_ instead of _yessir_ , so I hope it's not too jarring to read. However, if you've seen the movie, you'll know that _Yes, sir_ simply doesn't have the same … _snappiness_ , I guess, like _Jawohl, Herr Feldwebel_.

"Schumann. Sebastian Schumann, Herr Feldwebel."

"Look at me when you talk to me!"

It requires a lot of effort, but Sebastian lifts his head and looks straight at the Danish sergeant. Seconds go by. The sergeant examines him from head to toe, almost expectantly, as if he's quietly urging Sebastian so say something. To give him a reason. Eventually he moves on, but Sebastian knows better than to let his relief show.

Rasmussen. _Herr Feldwebel_ Rasmussen.

A pleasant face, on the surface, as if Rasmussen were an agreeable man.

A face that deceives.

**********

"Do you see that little black flag over there?"

"Yes, Herr Feldwebel."

"There are fifty-four thousand mines buried between those black flags and the trail. _You_ are going to disarm them all. Understood?"

"Yes, Herr Feldwebel."

Rasmussen makes them a promise. Three months. Three months, and if they survive, if they manage to clear all the mines –

Three months. One promise. Sebastian clings to it, every day, as they head out to the beach. Fifty-four thousand mines. Ten soldiers, which means four thousand and five hundred mines for each of them. Ninety days, sixty mines a day.

Every mine they disarm means one step closer to freedom.

**********

"It's me, Sebastian.

"What do you want?"

"I just wanted to ask if you have heard anything about when we'll next get to eat, Herr Feldwebel." No reaction. Sebastian continues, someone has to do it if Helmut won't. Of all of them, Sebastian is the one Rasmussen doesn't bully quite as often. "I believe that if we don't get to eat –"

"What is it that you believe," Rasmussen interrupts him. "Do you believe that I feel sorry for you?"

Sebastian would laugh if he could. "No, Herr Feldwebel."

"I don't give a shit. You know that? I don't give a shit if you die."

"I know, Herr Feldwebel." He's had to deal with men like Rasmussen before. He can't display any kind of weakness. Never let it show that they frighten him. Sebastian straightens. After the first time, he's learned his lesson and always meets Rasmussen's gaze. Knows by now that Rasmussen's eyes are also blue, a shade or two darker than Sebastian's. That they tend to look vacant and tired, except for when Rasmussen is yelling.

"And I don't know when the food gets here. The Germans are not first in line."

Only, if they have to wait too long … Defusing mines on an empty stomach, with shaking hands, is a dangerous task. More dangerous than it already is.

Rasmussen looks away. Massages his right hand. Makes a fist, then uncurls his fingers again. "Good night, Sebastian."

_Good night._

A deceptively civil phrase. Polite, almost, as if they'd had a normal conversation, him and Rasmussen. It happens sometimes, with idioms that Rasmussen has memorized that don't match the things he usually says. Just as his face doesn't match his eyes. As if there are several different parts of him.

Sebastian doesn't want to think about who Rasmussen is. Where he learned to speak German. If he genuinely smiles sometimes and what he looks like if he does. What happened to him during the war, why he hates them all so much.

"Good night, Herr Feldwebel," he says, and Rasmussen doesn't need to tell him to leave.

**********

"Listen to me, boy. You and I don't talk to each other. You get that? Don't talk to me. I ask questions, you answer them. And it's 'Herr Feldwebel'. Understood?"

"Yes, Herr Feldwebel."

"Why didn't you eat any of it?"

"He didn't offer me anything, Herr Feldwebel."

Turning toward Sebastian, Rasmussen stops. "Why not?"

Because Helmut can't stand him. Resents him for not telling the truth. About Wilhelm. About their chances of going home. Or maybe because Helmut hates everything and everyone, because he wanted to become a soldier and save his homeland, but now there's no longer a war to be won. "I don't know, Herr Feldwebel."

Rasmussen keeps looking at him. Almost as if he'd like to say something but decides against it at the last moment. He turns his head to stare at the distance.

"Poison," he says at last. "Against the rats."

Sebastian draws a sharp breath. Rasmussen doesn't give him time to react, starts walking again. "Come on. You have to go to the beach."

**********

As the others are vomiting again and again, standing in a line, Sebastian is glad they didn't offer him anything after all. His empty stomach clenches, aching, but at least he doesn't have to drink salt water.

Rasmussen hoses them down. "Go and lie down. Go to sleep. Rest."

Sebastian stays outside while the others stumble into the shed, keeping silent and out of the way. Rasmussen waits until all of them have disappeared before returning to the farm house. Sebastian leans his head against the wall, breathing in the cool spring air. Thinking.

Later, as all the others are asleep, he's still sitting in front of the shed by himself. Finally Rasmussen appears to check up on them. Stopping in front of Sebastian, he regards him silently for a moment. Accompanies his words with a gesture. "Off to bed with you."

Sebastian gets to his feet. Stands up straight. This is his opportunity – if not now, when else? It's just a hunch that he has a shot at convincing Rasmussen when it's just the two of them, when Rasmussen isn't facing a crowd, just him. "I'd like to show you something, Herr Feldwebel."

Rasmussen starts. Raises his eyebrows, ever so slightly, as if he can't believe that Sebastian is once again talking to him unasked. "Got to bed."

But Sebastian can't afford to waste this chance. "I'm going to show you something, Herr Feldwebel." He half expects Rasmussen to grab and hit him because he dares disobey his orders. In any case, his time is running out. He reaches for the frame, talks while moving. If he manages to take Rasmussen by surprise so he doesn't have time to get angry … He's worked out the right phrasing, memorized it, now the words come out on their own. "This frame is going to make the clearing process a lot easier, as the area we have to check for mines is now clearly outlined."

Time is up.

"Yes, good work, I got it, I'm not stupid."

"I know you aren't stupid."

"Good. Take your toy and go to bed."

If he backs off now … "I know that you hate us, Herr Feldwebel. I know that you don't care whether we get blown up or starve to death."

"Yes. You're correct."

"But I think it's a lot better for you if we don't die at the beach clearing mines, Herr Feldwebel."

"I don't care, boy. Take your toy. Go to bed."

"After all, the beach has to be cleared, isn't that right, Herr Feldwebel?" As much as Rasmussen hates them, he has superiors. They won't commend him for the number of Germans dying under his command unless they also manage to unearth a sufficient number of mines.

"Yes, you got that right," Rasmussen says. "And what is it that you're getting _wrong_ when I'm telling you to go to bed?"

"I understand, but I want you to listen."

"Then be quick."

The conversation makes less and less sense. But at least Rasmussen hasn't hit him yet. Maybe, if Sebastian is just brazen enough …

"Do you understand," he says.

Rasmussen sounds almost disbelieving. "Do _I_ understand? Do _you_ understand?"

"Yes, Herr Feldwebel."

"Good, my boy. Not take your toy, and go to bed!"

Everything ventured, nothing gained. Sebastian takes the frame, just as Rasmussen has told him to, and leaves.

He's not sure what makes him turn his head one more time, halfway to the shed. "Good night, Herr Feldwebel."

Rasmussen remains behind, unmoving. After a long while he comes to close the door and bolt it.

**********

"How did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Make the sergeant give us food. And allow us to use that frame you built. I didn't think he would."

Sebastian neither. But Rasmussen _has_ allowed it, he even tossed a couple of slats, a hammer, and nails at their feet so that they now have six of them – not bad.

Rasmussen also told them that Wilhelm will be going home.

Sebastian didn't ask that of him, he did that on his own.

"How did you manage that?"

"I don't know." But he does have an inkling. And it has something to do with the way Rasmussen looks at him sometimes. The way he yells at the others, especially Helmut in his Wehrmacht uniform, but not at him. Not at Sebastian.

**********

"Thank you," Sebastian says after Rasmussen has left another box with potatoes and turnips in front of their door, with the addition of coarse bread and a couple of shriveled winter apples. They cut them into slices, of which everyone gets two. Ludwig gets one of the cores and eats it whole, leaving only the short stem.

"Thank you," he says as Rasmussen allows them to keep sitting in the evening sun after clearing their day's worth of mines. "Thank you," after Rasmussen has given them gauze and tape to bandage Rodolf's arm which he's slit open on a protruding nail.

Rasmussen looks at him like he wants to order Sebastian to stop but doesn't know how without looking ridiculous. Sebastian doesn't try to pander to him, doesn't suck up to him, regardless of what Helmut says, he just wants … He doesn't know, precisely, what it is that he wants, maybe just for Rasmussen to see him as a person, not a loathsome German wearing a uniform. That Rasmussen permits him to be more than some pale face, one soldier among many. It's a victory, each time Rasmussen pays attention to him. When he gets Rasmussen to notice him, to listen when Sebastian has something to say.

**********

Rasmussen pushes him against shed's back wall, one arm across his chest. It's dark, they are alone. "Understood?"

He has to clear the mines by himself, one entire section, because the others have eaten rat poison, but Rasmussen lets him have the dog. The dog is trained to retrieve mines.

"Now go," Rasmussen says. His breath, warm and heavy, grazes Sebastian's face. Sebastian's heart is beating madly, he wants to lift a hand but for some reason it doesn't work. Rasmussen leans in, his weight heavy against Sebastian's chest.

Waking, Sebastian finds himself entangled in his blanket, on his back, breathing heavily. Has to shake off the impression of Rasmussen's nearness, the dream so very vivid.

The impression fades only slowly, he can almost still sense Rasmussen while being awake. Sebastian turns to his side, listening to the night rain pelting the glass panes, gusts of wind spattering raindrops through the broken windows. The last couple of weeks, they've cleared mines in the rain three times, lying on wet sand the whole day, covered by a tarp.

Around him, the others keep snoring. Someone coughs.

Sebastian closes his eyes again. Can still feel Rasmussen's presence. Just the echo of a dream, but it's difficult for him to cast it off. At some point, he falls asleep again. When he steps outside in the morning, the rain has stopped.

**********

Otto greets him, tail wagging, as Sebastian enters the room. During the day, the dog stays on the farm - it's too dangerous for him at the beach. Rasmussen doesn't like it if he gets too close to them, but as the weeks pass, they still happen to come across him, and on more than one occasion, one of them has secretly petted Otto while Rasmussen wasn't looking. So has Sebastian. Now Otto sniffs at his hand, but before Sebastian can affectionately pat his side, Rasmussen calls for him. Obediently, Otto trots back to Rasmussen, then goes to lie down beside the bed where he sleeps on a shabby, tattered blanket not unlike the ones they use in the shed.

Sitting on the bed, Rasmussen murmurs something at the dog, then looks at Sebastian. "What are you doing here?"

By now, Sebastian knows that there's no use in beating around the bush. Or in politely asking for something. "Our uniforms, Herr Feldwebel. They are all torn. We don't have anything to patch them up with." Day after day they crawl across the beach, moving forward on knees and elbows. Not even the best kind of uniform can bear that kind of strain for very long.

Rasmussen snorts. "And what am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know, Herr Feldwebel."

"They won't give me anything for you." As if he needs to justify himself.

"I know, Herr Feldwebel." Otto curls up, sleepy. Rasmussen has taken off his uniform jacket, is only wearing his shirt, partly unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled up, and a dirty white undershirt. His chest is lightly haired; because he's blond, it doesn't really register.

"Why are you looking at me?"

Sebastian flinches.

 _Apologies,_ Herr Feldwebel.

_What? What did you just say? What for? What are you apologizing for?_

He doesn't say anything, can't say anything because no matter _what_ he says –

Rasmussen gets to his feet.

Sebastian takes a step back solely by instinct. Even though he knows better, knows better than to let Rasmussen see … He stands at attention without meaning to as Rasmussen stops before him. Meets Rasmussen's gaze squarely because he doesn't make the same mistake twice.

Rasmussen looks him up and down. Sebastian swallows. All of a sudden, the dream comes to his mind. He almost expects Rasmussen to grab him by the collar and push him against the wall. He blinks, swallows again. But Rasmussen makes no move to hit him.

"Go back to the shed."

"Yes, Herr Feldwebel."

"And leave my dog alone."

"Yes, Herr Feldwebel."

**********

In the middle of the night, Sebastian startles awake as the door is yanked open.

"Attention!" A foreign voice, not Rasmussen's

Confusion, chaos, darkness, and only as they are standing outside in a line, shivering from the cold, it becomes apparent what is happening, though not why. Rasmussen is nowhere to be seen. They pick Ludwig because he's the biggest, the strongest. His own secret relief that it'snot him him makes Sebastian feel ill.

But then it's him anyway as he can no longer stand back and watch. Cold metal against his forehead; he flinches from the gun barrel, from their hands and their words, _pretty boy_ , he's heard that one before, at the main camp, spiteful, with an undertone that makes him feel cold. _Shoot that bastard, right between the eyes!_ The hand that holds the gun is shaking. _Look at me, look at me!_ Somebody punches him in the face, and then suddenly Rasmussen is there, stepping between them and the other soldiers.

"Gentlemen, please, please –" The punching stops, the yelling dies down. Words in English that mostly elude him. "I'm Sergeant Carl Leopold Rasmussen. This is my unit."

Sebastian is crouching at the ground, arms around Ludwig. Rasmussen stands in front of them, protecting them, he doesn't back down, keeps talking – and then they retreat, the others, even though their tone says they're doing it only reluctantly.

Sebastian doesn't dare relax, not until the other Dane is gone as well. _Hauptmann_ _Ebbe Jensen_.

"Go back inside, boys." Rasmussen's voice is sounding so calm, so normal, that Sebastian briefly closes his eyes in relief.

Ludwig is shaking like a leaf. Sebastian helps him get to his feet. It's not easy because Ludwig is so much bigger and heavier than him. "Come on, Ludwig." It's over, he wants to say, but the words get lost on their way to his tongue.

"Ludwig?" Rasmussen. "Go and wash up."

They stumble behind the shed where the hose is stored. Ludwig's breath is coming in short bursts. He stays mute as Sebastian turns on the water, cleans his head and face under the icy shower. Scrubs his arms, then pulls off his wet undershirt. Sebastian's hands, holding the hose, are shaking. There's a sob wedged in his throat that he has to force back down again and again. He sees the jeeps driving off, sees Rasmussen standing in the dark.

"Finished?" he asks Ludwig hoarsely. Ludwig takes one deep, hitching breath, more like a gasp. Still shaking from the cold. From fear.

Sebastian turns off the water. Werner joins them, holding a blanket that he puts around Ludwig's shoulders. Ludwig wraps himself in it, then stumbles back toward the shed, teeth chattering.

Sebastian follows him. Stops as he sees Rasmussen approach the shed, alone. By now, he's a familiar sight, sturdy and strong in his uniform.

He stops in front of Sebastian. Sebastian doesn't know what to say, it's as if all his words have disappeared from his mind.

Rasmussen looks at him intently, then moves on to the shed. "Everything all right in there?"

Silence, for a second. "Yes, Herr Feldwebel." Helmut.

"Back to bed, then."

Rasmussen waits a little, then walks back to the farm house without locking the door. Maybe he's forgotten about it. Maybe not.

For a moment, Sebastian stands alone in the dark. Looks at the dunes, the now-deserted country lane. Almost without making a conscious decision, he follows Rasmussen across the yard.

Rasmussen opens the door to his room. The dog is waiting behind it and Rasmussen briefly pats him on the back. He doesn't close the door. Because he's noticed that Sebastian is following him?

Sebastian stops in the doorway. Otto greets him, tail wagging, and Sebastian strokes his head. Looks down into faithful, shiny dog eyes. He finds his voice at last. "Thank you, Herr Feldwebel."

Rasmussen looks back at him. "You don't have to thank me. I need you to clear the mines."

"I know." You can still disarm mines while half dead, half-starved, with rat poison in your stomach. Not lying on the ground, though, shot to death. Would Rasmussen have intervened if they hadn't put a gun against Sebastian's head? "Do you … do you think they are going to come back?"

"No."

 _But what if?_ Rasmussen can't promise them anything. The others are more. They are officers. Allied soldiers. Rasmussen can't tell them what to do; they freed his country for him.

A wet muzzle pushes into his palm. Looking down at the dog, Sebastian pets one silky ear.

"What you did there," Rasmussen says. Waits until Sebastian returns his gaze. "That was very foolish. They almost shot you."

Sebastian shivers. "I know." He knew it was a stupid thing even as he did it. But if they do something like that, if his survival depends on the fact that he lets people do this to him – or to a fellow soldier – then they may as well shoot him because he's already dead inside.

"That's not all," Rasmussen says, shaking his head as Sebastian looks at him quizzically. "Don't you know what they do, to boys like you?"

"Boys like me?" he repeats, confused. All at once he gets it, understanding running through him like a shock. For a moment, he can barely believe that Rasmussen said that aloud.

"You know what I mean."

Sebastian stares at the floor. His cheeks are burning. He steals a quick glance at Rasmussen, nods.

Rasmussen rubs his neck. "Now go."

Sebastian nods again, mute. But for some reason, he can't move. Has Rasmussen ever thought of it? That he … could do _that_ to them?

He's hot and cold at the same time.

Rasmussen shouts at them all the time. Hits them, sometimes in the face. Has hit them, in the beginning; they all know it can happen again. But _that_ … he wouldn't do _that_ , would he?

Sebastian glances at Rasmussen. Can't look away as Rasmussen takes a step toward him. "Go."

His throat is dry. "Yes, Herr Feldwebel."

**********

Days pass and Sebastian can't stop thinking about it. Can't stop brooding. Wonders whether he's just imagining it, the way Rasmussen looks at him sometimes. When Sebastian tries to meet his gaze, Rasmussen hurriedly looks away. When Rasmussen makes them report for duty, his eyes linger on Sebastian just a little too long.

He can't get it out of his head, and it's making him crazy. _What if._

**********

The day starts like any other. They eat a little, stale bread they kept in reserve, then they head out to the beach. The section they are working on now is a little further away, a few hundred meters across the already-cleared area where wind and waves have long since smoothed out the dug up sand.

There's no warning, nothing to indicate that anything is different on this particular part of the beach. Nothing – until Sebastian discovers the wire, and by then, it's too late.

**********

Somehow they drag Ernst back to the shed. He's babbling, eyes shiny and fixed.

Rasmussen has been following them. "Get him inside. I'll be right there."

The day it happened to Wilhelm, Sebastian was the one caring for him. This time Helmut is with him; this time, Sebastian isn't alone. This time, nobody is bleeding or screaming. There's not enough left of Werner for any of that.

Suddenly Rasmussen is there again, sticking a needle in Ernst's arm. "Out, boys." Sebastian hesitates. "Sebastian, out."

He follows Helmut outside. While Helmut walks away, over to the others, Sebastian stops to look back inside.

Rasmussen crouches beside Ernst's bed. With his right hand, he gently keeps pushing Ernst's head on the pillow, finally makes him turn to his side, stroking his hair, putting the other hand on his arm.

Sebastian turns away. Rasmussen wouldn't want him to watch him. But he can't join the others, not right now, and instead his feet carry him along, through the dunes toward the beach.

He sinks down on the sand, staring at the sea and trying not to feel, not to think at all. Pulls the crucifix from his shirt, closes his fingers around it. Familiar, smooth edges dig into his palm, the metal warming under his touch. But it doesn't help. The kaleidoscope of images in his head doesn't stop: the wire, the blowup; Ludwig, holding Ernst so he stops searching the explosion site, so he doesn't have to see what's left, bits of flesh and pieces of fabric where a person had been just seconds before. The way back, all of them in a daze. Ernst, trembling, shirt clammy with cold sweat. Rasmussen, stroking Ernst's dark blond hair.

At some point, he hears footsteps. One of the others, most likely, sent to fetch him –

Rasmussen.

Rasmussen who, without saying anything, sits down on the sand beside him, pulling his knees up to rest his forearms on them.

"I lied," he says after a moment without any sort of preamble or transition. "Wilhelm didn't survive."

At first, Sebastian doesn't know why Rasmussen is telling him that. Why now, why him. But the words give him something to focus on. "I know, Herr Feldwebel. It was better that way, Herr Feldwebel." For everyone who did believe. For everyone who wanted to believe. "This way we could continue to clear the mines. So that we can go home some day." If they survive. If the Danes let them go. "Maybe." It's the worst mistake he can make, cling to it too tightly. There's so much that could happen. Going home is nothing more but a vague possibility.

But he can't think about that, or he'll go crazy.

Rasmussen casts him a sidelong glance. Belatedly, Sebastian recalls the crucifix and puts it back under his shirt.

"It's okay. I'm not going to take it from you."

He hadn't even thought of that. He just doesn't want Rasmussen to find him weak.

"Does the crucifix help?"

 _Maybe._ Just not the way Rasmussen thinks.

All of a sudden, he has an idea, an outrageous idea. Before he can think better of it, Sebastian pulls the cord over his head. Folds it and holds the crucifix out to Rasmussen. "Here you go, try it on, Herr Feldwebel."

"No."

Knee-jerk reaction, the same way Rasmussen first said no when Sebastian asked him for a sewing kit, and two days later, getting up in the morning, they'd found needles, thread, and patches cut from old uniforms lying next to the door. When they went to patch up their uniforms in the evening, outside so they could make the most of the light, Rasmussen didn't say anything. Let them work until dark.

"Come on, Herr Feldwebel. Try it, just this once."

"No."

Sebastian's heart starts beating faster. The moment needs to be just right, he knows. "Really, Herr Feldwebel, just try it on."

Rasmussen takes the crucifix.

"Boom!"

Rasmussen flinches, badly. Then he's laughing. Laughing, like a normal person, and Sebastian is laughing as well. Grins as Rasmussen nudges his shoulder, the words tumbling out of him just like that. "My father gave it to me. He always did that to me. And he always gave me a scare." Even though he knew it would happen. "That's why I'm wearing it," he adds.

"Is your father alive?"

They never got a letter, not before Sebastian got drafted. But he knows, they all know, that no one comes back from the eastern front. "I don't know." Minsk, the last thing his mother heard. The last letter, in February forty-four.

Rasmussen lifts his arm. Puts his hand on Sebastian's neck.

Sebastian turns his head, just a little, to look at Rasmussen, and this time, he isn't just imagining it, the way Rasmussen's sympathetic smile fades, they way there's something different in his eyes all of a sudden. Sebastian draws a sharp breath. Leans in, without thinking about it, because – because  –

Abruptly, Rasmussen pulls his hand back and gets up to shake the sand off his pants. "Come back before dark."

He doesn't say anything else as he walks away with heavy steps and disappears behind the dunes. Sebastian watches him leave, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, a little like fear, a little like …

His fingers dig into the sand. He forces himself to turn his head and look back at the sea, breathing deeply until his heartbeat is back to normal.

**********

The water, once Sebastian gathers the courage, is ice-cold, but after a moment, it barely registers. Waves, crashing over him; he holds his breath and dives under, aware of nothing but himself and the sea. Lets the next wave carry him toward the beach. Alone, for the first time in weeks, maybe in months, and for a while all thought stops as he lets himself drift.

His head is clearer as he gets out of the water, almost like he managed to gain some sorely needed distance. But the feeling doesn't last long as he redresses in his dirty uniform and slips back into his worn boots. Back in the shed, reality awaits him. Werner's empty bed, his belongings that someone has to put into a bag, if Helmut hasn't already. Ernst, who will hopefully sleep for a long while but who will inevitably wake at some point and realize what happened.

When Sebastian thinks of Rasmussen, his mouth goes dry. There's that fluttering sensation in his stomach again, the little hairs on his neck standing on end, a belated reaction to an unexpected touch, Rasmussen's palm warm on his skin.

**********

He can't sleep. Tries, turning from side to side, until Hermann glares at him from across the room.

The door is open. The door has stayed open for the first time and he doesn't know why. Apart from the night where the allied soldiers came, Rasmussen has always bolted the door. He didn't just forget about it either, they all heard him put the bolt into place. And then he's reconsidered, taken the bolt away to lean it against the wall.

The door is open. Even if they wanted to escape, though, there's nowhere to go, and Rasmussen knows it as well.

Ernst is murmuring in his sleep, tossing and turning. "Werner."

Sebastian climbs down, crosses the distance to Ernst's bunk bed. Puts his hand on Ernst's shoulder. "It's okay. All is well. Go back to sleep."

Ernst blinks, dazed. "Do we have to get up yet?"

"No," Sebastian says. "It's the middle of the night. Go back to sleep, or you'll wake the others."

"Werner …"

"Sleeping soundly. Just be quiet."

Ernst nods, still a little confused. "Yeah. Okay. Sleep tight, Sebastian."

"Sleep tight."

Ernst closes his eyes. Sebastian keeps sitting at his bedside until he's sure that Ernst is asleep again.

He needs fresh air.

Cautiously, he sneaks toward the door. The others are all quiet, hopefully sleeping. If anyone sees him leave, he doesn't make himself known.

It's gotten cold outside, dampness permeating the air. Darkness hasn't completely fallen yet. In the farm house, across the yard, lights are still burning in Rasmussen's room.

It's not a conscious decision that leads him to Rasmussen's window. If he'd stop to think about it, it would become exceedingly obvious to him how stupid he's behaving, the kind of risk he's taking. But he does it anyway, gets closer to the window and looks inside to see Rasmussen sitting on a chair at his table, a liquor bottle beside him, a cup, a piece of bread. An open book lies in front of him, but as Sebastian watches him, Rasmussen keeps sitting there without turning a page. He reaches for his cup, drinks. Lifts his head to stare at the window.

Sebastian flinches and flattens himself against the wall.

Otto lifts his head from the floor, giving a soft "woof".

Sebastian freezes as the chair drags over the floor. Considers running for a second until he realizes how stupid that would be. The only thing he can do is to stand up straight and pretend he was on his way to Rasmussen, except he doesn't have a reason for it. Still, he walks toward the door, in Rasmussen's direction. As Rasmussen appears in the corridor between the house and the barn, gun drawn, Sebastian stops short.

Recognizing him, Rasmussen lowers his gun. "Sebastian. What are you doing here?" As Sebastian fails to reply immediately, he frowns. "Is something the matter with Ernst?"

"No, Herr Feldwebel. He's sleeping, Herr Feldwebel."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"May I … may I talk to you, Herr Feldwebel?"

Rasmussen looks at him warily. With his head, he points to his room. Sebastian follows him inside, palms sweating.

What is he meant to tell Rasmussen? He tries the very first topic that comes to his mind. "You didn't lock us in tonight."

Rasmussen narrows his eyes. "And you thank me by sneaking outside?"

He should invent some excuse. That he went for a piss, for example. "I couldn't sleep."

"And that is why you're loitering around here? What's the meaning of this?"

He hasn't seen Rasmussen this angry for a long time. Irritated, yes, but not angry, not the way he was in the beginning. At least Rasmussen has re-holstered his gun, the belt hanging over the back of the chair.

Sebastian takes a deep breath. "I apologize for disturbing you, Herr Feldwebel."

"It's all right. Now go."

He should be relieved to get off this lightly. Should use the chance and go back to the shed, hope that Rasmussen doesn't change his mind and bolts the door after all. He definitely shouldn't keep standing here, in the light, where it smells a little like dog, where it's warm and Rasmussen keeps glaring at him.

Sebastian knows what he _should_ do. He has no excuse for what he actually does, for the words coming out of his mouth. "What are you reading, Herr Feldwebel?"

Rasmussen glances at the table. "What is it to you?"

From close by, Sebastian can see the pages are in fine print, a real book, not a handbook or a Bible, the only two sorts of books Sebastian got to see since his deployment.

Still glancing at the book, he isn't prepared for Rasmussen to grab his shoulders and glower at him. "Why are you here?"

Sebastian involuntarily opens his mouth to protest, closes it again. He holds Rasmussen's gaze. From this distance, he can smell the scent surrounding him: leather oil, sweat, a hint of alcohol. Rasmussen's hands are warm on his shoulders.

Something is wrong with him, with that inexplicable urge to get close to Rasmussen, even though or maybe precisely because Rasmussen is so dangerous, because it's entirely possible he'll resort to hitting them again, because he's unpredictable, like a feral cat that hisses and scratches yet to try to touch it anyway.

The backyard cat, striped, one ear notched, and Sebastian vividly recalls his attempt of petting it, had the scratches for weeks.

"I see the way you look at me," he whispers.

Rasmussen freezes. "What did you say?" Softly. Far too softly. He stares at Sebastian, intently. "What did you just say."

"You're doing it again. You're looking at me as if –"

"How, then? How? How am I looking at you?" Rasmussen shakes him again. Seizes him by the collar as if he means to shove him back with full force, but fails to do so, instead, his fingers are crumpling Sebastian's shirt.

Even though his heart is beating like it wants to burst, Sebastian reaches out to touch Rasmussen's cheek.

Rasmussen flinches. Lets go of him, frozen in shock, speechless.

Sebastian crosses the distance between them, so quickly that Rasmussen doesn't have a chance to stop him, and wraps his arms around him. Trembling, he buries his head in Rasmussen's shoulder. His breath comes in short bursts. "Please," he whispers. "Please."

Rasmussen holds himself very still. Seconds pass. Sebastian clings to him even more tightly, swallowing. Any moment now Rasmussen is going to push him away, and then the blows will fall, blows he has earned for behaving so egregiously.

Rasmussen draws a slow, hitching breath. Puts his arms around Sebastian, hugging him tight.

Some of the tension eases, and Sebastian nestles closer. Right now, it feels as if he's won a victory. He's overcome Rasmussen's defenses, has gotten so very close to him. They're just two people sharing the same tight space. Rasmussen is tall, broad-shouldered, solidly built; his hands are capable of hitting, yet at the same time, so good at holding Sebastian. His hands are just there, warm and steady.

He doesn't know how long it has been since someone held him like this.

The moment lasts. Sebastian can't give it up, not willingly. Not knowing what gives him the courage, he touches Rasmussen's hair, amazingly soft under his fingers. Lays his cheek against Rasmussen's, touching his bristly chin with dry lips.

For a moment, Rasmussen seems to be holding his breath. He turns his head. Just enough that Sebastian can kiss him on the lips, terrified by his own courage. Stunned that Rasmussen lets him.

He doesn't know what he's doing. Doesn't have any words for what's happening here. But strictly speaking, it's not entirely new. He was in love with his Latin teacher, back then, used to wonder what it would be like to kiss him the way he'd seen his parents kiss. Back then, he hadn't known what it meant, not the way does now, but it doesn't matter because Rasmussen isn't pushing him away, and if he does hate Sebastian, it's not because of this. Right? Or is it? Sebastian tries to get even closer.

He knows the moment has passed as Rasmussen tenses. Doesn't want it to be true, afraid of the cold, afraid that as soon as the distance reappears, Rasmussen will look at him like an enemy again.

Taking a deep breath to gather his courage, he sinks down to his knees, right in front of Rasmussen, and puts his hands on Rasmussen's belt.

Rasmussen pulls back with a start. Opens his mouth. Sebastian shrinks into himself, but when Rasmussen fails to say something, he pushes his cheek against Rasmussen's thigh, closes his eyes and turns his head to put his half-open mouth on the barely visible bulge in Rasmussen's groin. Spreading warmth through the fabric with his breath, keeping his eyes closed. He's trembling a little.

"No." Rasmussens voice is rough. "You don't have to do that." He gently pushes Sebastian away. Sebastian lowers his head. Opens his eyes to stare at Rasmussen's clean, freshly-polished boots.

Rasmussen touches Sebastian's hair. Stroking it softly. Sebastian fights the urge to turn his cheek into Rasmussen's palm.

"Get up, my boy," Rasmussen says. Mechanically, Sebastian obeys.

"Sebastian. Look at me."

Sebastian lifts his head. "You don't have to do that," Rasmussen says again.

It's making him angry, the thing Rasmussen _isn't_ saying: That it's not something a man should do. That it's something to be ashamed of.

Why be ashamed of this, though? And not of the mines out there? The ones that tear you to bits, rip off your hands, just like that.

Sebastian doesn't get it. He never got it.

Rasmussen slowly shakes his head. "Go back to the others."

The others. Where he doesn't belong. They don't want him any more than Rasmussen does. "I don't want to go."

"What do you want from me?"

Sebastian swallows. Wouldn't be able to reply even if he knew how.

Rasmussen turns away. While Sebastian is watching with a dry mouth, he walks over to the bed, sits down and takes off his boots. Puts them on the floor next to the bed. Shrugs off his suspenders and unbuttons his shirt. Doesn't acknowledge Sebastian's presence, as if Sebastian has ceased to exist entirely.

Rasmussen rises again and walks over to the sink, takes a washcloth and cleans his face, hands, and arms. As he dries off his face with a towel, their eyes meet in the mirror. Rasmussen pauses for a second, then averts his gaze, bends over to pull off his socks and proceeds to wash his feet. His back to Sebastian, he unbuttons his pants and hangs them over the back of his chair with his shirt and belt, keeps standing there in his underwear for a brief moment before extinguishing the light and walking over to the bed.

Sebastian stands frozen. Barely dares to breathe.

Rasmussen lies down on his back. Eyes open, he stares at the ceiling. Moments pass, the silence disrupted only by the sound of his breathing, a distant cough from the shed.

If one of them notices Sebastian's absence, he'll probably raise an alarm. He really should go back.

In the dark, Sebastian slowly makes his way to the end of the bed. Unbuttons his uniform jacket, takes off his shoes and pants. He should clean himself. But he did go for a swim, washing away dust and sweat and grime, that has to be enough.

Rasmussen, on the bed, doesn't move. He has to see as well as hear what Sebastian is doing, but he doesn't say a word. When Sebastian, in his underwear, braces himself on the mattress and climbs into bed, he finally takes a deep breath. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I want to."

The bed smells like Rasmussen. Smells of him so strongly that his scent completely surrounds Sebastian. He breathes it in, deeply, filling his lungs with it. Reaches out blindly and puts his hand on Rasmussen's chest, feels his heartbeat, tellingly fast.

Rasmussen puts his hand on top of Sebastian's. Closes his fingers around it. "Leave it be."

That's not a yes. Not a no either. Rasmussen didn't stop him from getting into bed with him. Cautiously, so very cautiously, Sebastian inches closer, shivering from the cold.

Rasmussen sighs and turns to his side. Pushes Sebastian on his back, one hand on his shoulder. "You don't know what you want."

How many times is he going to say that, deny that Sebastian knows what he's doing, knows why he's here? Sebastian touches Rasmussen's brow. The hair at his temple. Rasmussen closes his eyes, gives another sigh, and leans over him. Kisses him, very slowly, a kiss that draws a soft, helpless sound from Sebastian's throat.

It almost feels like they are two different human beings in the dark. As if Rasmussen has taken off the Danish sergeant and Sebastian the German soldier he never truly was. In the dark, there is nothing left to keep them apart. Skin on skin. As if they are leaving reality further and further behind with every touch, getting closer to each other.

For Sebastian, it's all new, Rasmussen's weight on him, kisses that won't stop, that feel alien and forbidden, feelings that grow more and more intense until Sebastian moans helplessly. Rasmussen thrusts against him, moving between his legs. Sebastian feels him everywhere, smells him. As Rasmussen starts stroking him, nothing else matters. Hot, almost painful. Sebastian throws his head back, lets it happen, the thing that desperately wants to happen, needs to happen, and closes his eyes. One moment, holding his breath, much like the second he pulls the pin out of the mine and it fails to explode. Then releasing his breath as the tension slowly abates, only better, so much better, sheltered and safe while Rasmussen pulls him close and stills on top of him with a hoarse groan.

Rasmussen's heart is beating just as fast as his, slows down just as slowly. Wetness between Sebastian's thighs, soaking his underpants; sweat covering his skin. Rasmussen sinks back onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Sebastian turns to his side and pulls the blanket over them, shifts closer until his forehead rests against Rasmussen's shoulder.

He can't stay here, he knows.

It's the last thing on his mind before someone shakes his shoulder, in the middle of he night. Sebastian opens his eyes and sees Rasmussen's face hovering above him. "You have to go," Rasmussen says, so softly it doesn't sound like an order, but Sebastian obeys anyway.

His clothes are where he dropped them; he gathers them from the floor while Rasmussen calms down his dog in a slow murmur, then gets up and walks over to the table, then, cup in hand, to the washing stand to pour water from a jar and drink it.

On the doorstep, Sebastian hesitates. He turns back to Rasmussen, who is still standing at the washing stand with his back to him. After a second, Rasmussen appears to notice that Sebastian hasn't left and looks over his shoulder.

"Good night, Herr Feldwebel."

Rasmussen's face, hidden in the dark, is unreadable. After a moment, he gives a wordless nod.

**********

"Where have you been?" Friedrich sleepily asks as Sebastian climbs into his bed.

"Went to take a piss."

"Good thing the door's open."

"Mhm."

**********

For a while, it's better.

For a while, it's almost bearable.

It's summer. They have food. Rasmussen puts them to work, then lets them go for a swim in the North Sea.

When Sebastian lifts his head to look at Rasmussen, across the sand, Rasmussen turns away. If he glances at Sebastian, it's only for a second. Sebastian gets it, in a way, gets that what happened between them can't happen again. If the others knew … They'd believe that Rasmussen made him. Or, if they thought he'd done it willingly, they'd be disgusted.

It's better not to think about it. But he can't forget about it either, and whenever he's facing Rasmussen, whenever their eyes meet for a split second, it gives him a little jolt.

**********

One second, just one second where everything changes.

As Rasmussen orders them back to the shed, they exchange worried glances. Exuberance has given way to a lasting silence, they march back to the farm, Rasmussen carrying Otto in his arms. He throws a shovel at Helmut's feet and tilts his head toward the dunes.

It doesn't take long to dig a hole into the sandy soil, deep enough that no scavenger will be able to unbury the dog's body. Rasmussen puts the dog inside, strokes the black and white fur one final time. They put sand and little rocks on the grave before heading back to the farm where Rasmussen tells them to report to report for duty and wait for him.

**********

"Anything you want to say. Is there anything you want to say?"

There _is_ nothing to say. Nothing one of them can do is going to change what happened, is going to bring Otto back. There's no turning back the time, back to the moment in the morning when everything was fine and they were playing soccer at the beach.

Ludwig tries anyway, bravely, fighting to get out the words. "Maybe –"

"Herr Feldwebel, please stop." It's the first time in a couple of days that Sebastian addresses Rasmussen directly. That he asks something of him. But he's the only one who might be able to get through to Rasmussen. Who might have a chance.

Rasmussen turns his head, stares at him, expression murderous, and Sebastian finds it difficult to hold his gaze; has to force himself to keep looking at him. After a moment Rasmussen turns back to Ludwig and lets go of him. "Idiot. You are all idiots!"

**********

Relief is short-lived. Relief dies as the two Danish soldiers show up at the beach, it dies with the order to walk across the sand so that if there's still a mine buried somewhere, it won't be a Dane dying but one of them.

The Rasmussen who is standing in front of them suddenly appears like a stranger, but that's just because they didn't get to see him for so long. They almost, _almost_ forgot he exists.

**********

"I say we run. Before all of us die." Helmut frantically gathers his things. "Are you deaf? You really want to bear it just like that? I'd rather be shot dead by the English than walk across the beach like that again!"

"We stay until the job is done." Sebastian is sitting on his bed. " _Then_ we go home." There's no other option but to finish clearing the beach. "The sergeant said we'll get to go home when we're done."

"The sergeant." Helmut imitates his voice, high-pitched and dainty. "And you think the sergeant is going to keep his word?" He opens his bag pack. "If you want to keep up this march of the dead, fine with me. Fine, fine, fine!" His voice is getting louder, a yell. If Rasmussen is standing outside, he's guaranteed to hear it. "But you don't get to tell me what to do. Nobody does!"

"And what's supposed to happen to us once he realizes you're gone?" As Helmut sneers, Sebastian shakes his head. "I can't let you do that."

"That's not your decision!" Helmut is glaring daggers at him. "I'm going."

"No, you're staying!"

Helmut shakes his head, laughing derisively as he puts on his hat. "You still don't get it, do you? He hates you. He hates you, the same way he hates us all. Is our _dear sergeant_ doing this because he likes us so much, hm?"

He's not going to let himself be convinced. Sebastian knows why. If Rasmussen treated him the way he treats Helmut, he'd probably try to escape as well. But if Helmut runs, they're all going to bear the consequences. "Hold him. Tie him down!" The others don't move right away. Sebastian puts authority in his voice, as much of it as he can. Helmut is supposed to be their leader, but it's Sebastian who knows how to talk to Rasmussen. Who manages to get food for them and sewing supplies, at least that's what they believe, and that has to be enough. "I said, tie him down!"

Three of them tie Helmut to the bed. Sebastian puts a handkerchief in his mouth, hates himself for what he has to do. "Are you going to be silent? Are. You. Going. To. Be. Silent!"

To his relief, Helmut gives in. After a while, something like normalcy returns to the shed, after a long while where they remain quiet and keep an anxious eye on Helmut.

For a long while, Sebastian keeps sitting on his bed, thinking.

If there's somebody who has a chance to make Rasmussen see reason, it's him.

As he gets up in the end, most of the others are lying in bed.

"I'm going to talk to him," he says softly. "I'll do it."

Skeptical faces. Even Ernst casts him a dubious glance. But they don't know what Sebastian knows.

The door is locked. With a bolt that can be lifted from the inside with the wire Sebastian keeps hidden in his mattress. Now he bends it into a semicircle and pushes it through the door gap, manipulating the wire until the top end slides back through the gap, right above the bolt. He twists the wire into a sling to lift the bolt so it slips from the bracket, then pulls the bolt even higher until the other end slides down to the ground and he can open the door.

**********

Through the window he sees Rasmussen pacing across the room.

In the corner beside the bed, where Otto used to lie, only the crumpled blanket remains, shoved partway under the bed.

Sebastian knocks at the door. Silence, followed by footsteps right before Rasmussen yanks the door open. Sebastian slips inside, closes the door and stands in front of it. Takes a deep breath. "Your dog. I'm really sorry, Herr Feldwebel. That shouldn't have happened."

"Shut up."

"I –"

"I said, shut up!" Rasmussen shouts at him, spitting. He closes one hand around Sebastian's throat. Squeezes, tightly enough that Sebastian desperately starts to struggle to get free. Rasmussen lets go, grabs his shoulders and shoves him against the wall. "Shut up!"

Sebastian gasps for breath. Looks Rasmussen in the eye as if he can force him to stop, to calm down. As if it were that easy.

"Your apology, what does it matter? Tell me."

"Otto won't come back," Sebastian says softly. "He won't come back. I know that."

"You don't know anything! You're just … just …"

"But it's not our fault, Herr Feldwebel. We didn't betray you." No matter what Rasmussen does, Sebastian can't back off, needs to make him understand, somehow. "You know that Ludwig's numbers were correct. The maps are wrong, Herr Feldwebel. That's not our fault just because we're German."

Rasmussen stares at him. The last two day, he's felt nothing but hatred and contempt for them, ice-cold, scorching hot at times, and Sebastian asks himself if Rasmussen isn't sick of it, if he doesn't have enough of it by now. All this hatred is not going to change a single thing. All this hatred just make them fear him. Makes them hate him as well. Helmut, at least, and Ludwig. Probably all of them, except for Ernst who doesn't hate anyone, who hardly talks anymore, who is barely there. And except for Sebastian.

Rasmussen can do whatever he wants. Can hit him until he's lying bleeding on the floor. Can draw his gun and shoot him. Claiming that Sebastian attacked him, that he was trying to run. No one would ask any questions, no one would hold it against him. But there's one thing Rasmussen can't do, and that's to make Sebastian forget that other part of him, the one he saw, the one he felt so intimately.

"Please don't hate us," he whispers.

In front of his eyes, Rasmussen's face crumbles. Rasmussen lets go of him, his head sinking low as if it's suddenly too heavy for him. He clenches his left hand into a fist and punches the door, once, a heavy thud close to Sebastian's head. His hand remains there; he keeps breathing heavily, swaying like a wounded animal, and then there's a weird sound coming from deep inside his chest.

Rasmussen turns away. Walks over to the bed to sink on it and bury his head in his hands. Every breath is accompanied by a gasp, a sob that desperately tries not to be one.

Sebastian should hate him for the things he's doing to them.

He can't. Even in the beginning, he couldn't, and now it's just not possible anymore.

His legs carry him toward the bed. He sits down beside Rasmussen without touching him, then softly puts a hand on Rasmussen's shoulder. Keeps it there. It moves with each of Rasmussen's labored breaths, with every tremor running through him.

After a while the tremors stop and Rasmussen's breathing evens out. Sebastian takes his hand away but stays where he is, next to Rasmussen at the edge of the bed. Rasmussen lifts his head, stares down at his right hand, makes a fist, opens it and massages his fingers

"I know it's not your fault." The strain and hoarseness in Rasmussen's voice almost make him appear like a stranger. He turns his head to look at Sebastian. "I know that."

Rasmussen doesn't have to say that knowing and feeling aren't the same. That the rage doesn't just disappear. That his hatred is just the shape that his rage takes to express itself.

Right now, in this moment, the rage is gone, leaving emptiness behind. A void that Sebastian can fill, maybe, with something other than hatred. He leans in and kisses Rasmussen on the mouth.

" _Gud hjælper mig_ ," Rasmussen murmurs. He puts his arms around Sebastian, one hand on his neck, and kisses him almost violently, thrusting his tongue deep in Sebastian's mouth.

Sebastian closes his eyes, tastes heat and despair and bitterness, Rasmussen's lips punishing on his. His hands clench into the fabric of Rasmussen's uniform, he moans as Rasmussen bites his bottom lip.

Rasmussen breaks the kiss, pushes Sebastian away. "Take off your clothes."

Sebastian hurriedly obeys while Rasmussen shrugs off his uniform jacket and lets it fall to the floor, then starts tugging at his belt.

"On your knees."

Sebastian freezes. He wants to do what Rasmussen tells him, he really does, but still hesitates, searching for Rasmussen's gaze. Looks into Rasmussen's dark, wounded eyes.

"Sebastian."

Sebastian nods a little shakily. He kneels on the bed, head to the wall, and bends over, supporting himself on his arms. On all fours, like a dog. Is that what Rasmussen wants – to take him like a mindless animal? He thinks of Ludwig, ball in mouth, and feels slightly nauseous.

Rasmussen's belt buckle clinks, his clothes rustle. He pulls down his pants and underpants, spits into his palm, takes his cock in hand and strokes himself.  Spits again, then pulls Sebastian toward him with his hands on Sebastian's hips. Shoves himself between his thighs. "Your legs. Hold them together."

Sebastian only slowly gets an inkling of what it is that Rasmussen wants from him. He flexes his muscles, enclosing Rasmussen in the hidden space between his thighs.

Rasmussen draws a sharp breath. "Yes, like this."

Sebastian closes his eyes as Rasmussen starts moving back and forth. His cock touches Sebastian's perineum, bumps against his balls. The slide is getting easier, sweat and pre-come mixing with Rasmussen's spit. Rasmussen starts moving faster. It's thrilling, what Rasmussen is doing to him, it feels so good. A he squeezes Rasmussen tighter, Rasmussen gasps. So Sebastian does it again, and then again, until they settle into a rhythm.

A rhythm that gets out of control once Rasmussen bends over him and starts touching him. Sebastian moans, pelvis thrusting forward. He pushes into Rasmussen's fist, mindless and unseeing. Rasmussen wraps an arm around him, holding him tight, thrusts against him one final time and stills. The warm, sticky liquid between Sebastian's thighs triggers his climax; he gasps and spills into Rasmussen's hand.

Rasmussen is still holding him. As Sebastian opens his thighs and shifts his weight, Rasmussen almost loses his balance, lets go of him, straightening himself.

Sebastian lies down on the bed, on his side, legs bent. Rasmussen pulls a handkerchief from his pocket to clean himself, then hands it over to Sebastian.

Their eyes meet as their fingers do. Rasmussen's expression might count as a smile if he didn't look so tired and resigned. He sits down on the edge of the bed, stroking Sebastian's hair, the same way he'd been stroking Ernst's. Sebastian closes his eyes for a secon..

"Clean yourself."

Sebastian opens his eyes. He wipes his own cock with the handkerchief, puts his right foot on the mattress so there's more room to maneuver between his legs. Wordlessly, Rasmussen reaches for his hand, and Sebastian hands the handkerchief back over, holding still with his cheeks burning while Rasmussen cleans him slowly and thoroughly, knuckles touching Sebastian's cock, finger pads grazing his balls. Sebastian shivers: a tickle, lust, a hint of shock, all mixed together.

Rasmussen pulls his hand back and throws the handkerchief to the floor. Stares down at Sebastian.

Sebastian sits up. The distance between them is to great, he wants to bridge it somehow, but Rasmussen doesn't let him, puts a hand on Sebastian's shoulder to keep them apart as Sebastian tries to lean in.

"You have to go." Rasmussen doesn't give him a chance to protest. He gets up, pulls his pants back up and closes the buttons, back to Sebastian.

Sebastian climbs out of bed and searches for his clothes. At least Rasmussen is no longer quite as angry. Maybe, just maybe, something Sebastian said got through to him.

He pauses on the doorstep. Clears his throat. "You should lock the door again, Herr Feldwebel." In case Helmut manages to free himself and tries to run again, the bolt is an obstacle that will cost him time, giving them a chance to stop him. But Sebastian doesn't say that. Instead he waits for Rasmussen to look at himand gives him a single nod.

**********

Sebastian sneaks back into the shed. He has almost reached bed as he notices August looking at him in the dark.

Sebastian wonders if he can see it, if he knows what happened, and that Sebastian liked it.

He has no choice but to look August in the face, until August spits on the floor in obvious disgust and turns his back on him.

Sebastian's heart grows heavy.

And yet.

And yet he can't regret what happened.

**********

The girl is sitting at the beach, in the section that they haven't cleared yet. Desperately, they try to reach her before she gets up and runs away, before something bad can happen. Sebastian sticks his staff into the sand, the task so familiar by now that he soon falls into a well-established rhythm, methodical and thorough even though time is of essence. The others stop working as they see that he's advancing a lot faster than they are; they don't need to clean the whole area, just a path.

Rasmussen spurs him on as he disarms yet another mine. "Very good, Sebastian. Keep going."

And then Ernst is there, walking across the minefield as if it's a meadow full of flowers, as if there's nothing to be concerned about. As suicidal as his behavior is, it gives Sebastian some much-needed respite.

As Sebastian finally reaches him and the girl, Ernst cautiously rises from the ground. Sebastian holds out his arms so Ernst can hand her over. The way Sebastian instinctivly carries her stirs up memories. For a second, it's Ruth he's holding, his little cousin, and it's summer in the countryside on their grandparents' farm. Then he's back at the beach, focusing on the task at hand, taking great care not to deviate from the cleared path. Getting back to the fence is the only thing on his mind.

The farmer takes the girl from his arms. Sebastian breathes a sigh of relief. Rasmussen fleetingly touches his back, but Sebastian barely notices. He turns back to Ernst. "Ernst, are you coming?"

Ernst is standing there almost as if he hasn't heard him. But he has. He _has_ heard Sebastian, hasn't he? "Ernst, please come here."

Ernst shakes his head.

"Ernst, come here." Rasmussen repeats it, louder this time. "Ernst, come here!"

There's a lump in Sebastian's throat. "Ernst!"

But Ernst doesn't come. Instead he turns around and keeps walking into the mine field, slowly, as if he knows precisely where he's going, as if he has a clear goal in mind.

"What are you doing!" Rasmussen is standing at the fence. "Ernst, come here!"

"Ernst, come back!" Sebastian follows him, takes one step, two, which is as far as he dares. He tries again. "Ernst, please come here!"

The detonation makes him flinch. He keeps standing there, unable to take a single step, fighting the urge to vomit, shaking and incapable of moving until Rasmussen finally seizes his shoulders and pulls him back to safety.

His legs no longer hold him upright; he collapses on the sand. He can't go on. He just can't. Not Ernst. Not him as well, it's too much. Sebastian wants to scream; what comes out instead is a gasp.

"Sebastian." Rasmussen, crouching down beside him, pulling him into his arms. "Sebastian, my boy." He's cradling Sebastian's head against his chest. Sebastian sobs once, clings to Rasmussen helplessly, struggling to keep in the noises that threaten to spill out of him, hoarse, broken animal noises.

"Let it go." Rasmussen's voice is rough. "Let it go. Come on, my boy, you can't stay here."

**********

Rasmussen holds out his hand, helps him to his feet. "Wipe off your tears."

Sebastian wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. Rasmussen smooths out his own shirt, reflexively, the way he sometimes does, then lightly pats Sebastian's cheeks. Puts his right hand on Sebastian's neck and pulls him a little closer. "Repeat with me. It's almost over."

"It's almost over."

"I'll be going home." He shakes Sebastian for emphasis. They are almost on eye level.

"I'll be going home."

"Yes. All right?"

"Yeah. Yes."

A pat to his cheek. "Stop crying." A pat to his shoulder, until Sebastian looks him in the eye. A half-smile. "I need you. The others need you. Okay? You have to be strong, can you do that?"

Sebastian nods. "Yeah." Rasmussen stares at his mouth, as if he wants to kiss him, right here, in broad daylight. "Yes, I can be strong."

"You're strong"

"I'm strong."

"Say it again."

"I'm strong."

"I'll be going home."

"I'll be going home."

"Yes. It's almost over."

Sebastian nods. Takes a deep breath, focuses only on Rasmussen's words, words he is meant to believe. Has to believe. "Thank you."

**********

As he leaves the shed that night, Sebastian doesn't care whether the others see him. He's almost at the door when he hears it, quiet enough that he could choose to ignore it. "Faggot."

Sebastian turns his head, but no one is meeting his eyes. For a second, the room is dead silent.

"None of your fucking business," he says, softly and distinctly.

This time, he recognizes the voice. "You know, they used to send people like you to the camps." Helmut. Of course.

Sebastian clenches his fists. Has to struggle not to turn around and start the fight Helmut is looking for, the fight that won't end in anything but bloodshed. "Maybe. You know what? _They_ are the reason why we're here. _They_ are responsible for Wilhelm’s death. And Werner's. And –" _Ernst._ Sebastian can't make himself say his name.

"Wilhelm?" Rodolf blankly says after a moment, from his bed right beside the door. "But Wilhelm isn't –"

Sebastian turns his head to look at him. Rodolf falls quiet.

In the ensuing silence, Sebastian slowly shakes his head. " _They_ are the ones responsible for all of this. Maybe you all want to think about that. The next time one of us gets blown up."

**********

His sense of triumph for getting to keep the last word doesn't last long. On the way to Rasmussen's room, he stops, in the shadows where no one can see him. Takes a deep breath. He's going to pay for what he just did. He has to be careful, keep his eyes open. Can't turn his back on anybody. Especially not Helmut. Who hates him already and has just been given yet another reason for it.

The next time allied soldiers are standing in front of them, if it's Sebastian they pick, no one is going to stop them.

He runs a hand over his mouth.

If a mine explodes and Sebastian is lying there with his hands torn off, no one is going to try and stop the bleeding.

He forces himself to breathe in and out. Looks up at the starry sky, listens to the distant turf. Before he was sent to the front, he'd never been at the ocean.

He slowly walks over to the house. Knocks on Rasmussen's door. Inches it open.

Rasmussen is sitting at his table, scribbling something into a journal. Lifts his head as Sebastian enters and hakes his head. "You can't be here." He lets his gaze wander in shed's direction.

"I don't care." Sebastian is aware of how defiant he sounds.

Rasmussen sighs. "Sebastian, my boy. You can't do this."

"Just this once." He's not begging, he tells himself, not begging, even though it sounds like he is. Even though he'd do anything just so he doesn't have to stay in the shed, staring at Ernst's empty bed. "It's almost over, you said."

"Yes."

"Then it doesn't matter, does it? We'll be going home."

"You don't know what you're saying."

Sebastian is sick of it, this back and forth. He walks over to the bed, taking off his uniform and underwear. Rasmussen draws in a sharp breath. His chair scapres over the floor as he pushes it back. Sebastian lies down on the mattress, completely naked. This time, he knows what he wants. Hopes he doesn't have to say it. The only words he knows for this are so dirty.

The light goes out. It's dark and quiet inside the room, he can't hear Rasmussen and doesn't know where he is.

Footsteps. Rasmussen sits down beside him. His hand touches Sebastian's back, travels higher, up to his shoulders.

Warm where Rasmussen touches him, cold as his hand moves on. Sebastian has goose bumps. Rasmussen's fingers trail down his spine, from his shoulders back down to the small of his back, the hollow right before his butt. Sebastian holds his breath as Rasmussen's thumb moves further down, into his butt crack. He feels hot, turns his cheek against the cool pillow. "Yes."

Rasmussen stills. A moment of absolute quiet where neither of them even breathes, then Rasmussen rises to his feet and starts undressing. Sebastian closes his eyes, listening, trying to guess what's happening – how much longer he'll have to wait.

The sound of creaking leather and rustling fabric. A drawer opens and closes. Rasmussen returns to the bed, barefoot, and Sebastian grows tense in spite of himself – is afraid of what's going to happen, wants it anyway.

As Rasmussen slide on the bed, then on top of him, Sebastian holds his breath for a second. Hides his face in the pillow. Breathes out, breathes Rasmussen in, clinging to his scent. It anchors him – it's feels a little like he's standing in the ocean with the waves crashing over him, the way Rasmussen rubs against him, sticky with some kind of grease, and finally spreads his cheeks to enter him. Sebastian digs his fingers into the mattress, tries to keep breathing, gritting his teeth. And then it happens, Rasmussen slides inside, painful and inexorable like the tide.

The break creaks. Rasmussen is breathing heavily, over him and in him, settling into a slow pace. Sebastian moans and trembles, arches back against him. Feels him so keenly, so deeply that there's no room for anything else. Rasmussen kisses his neck, hands sliding over Sebastian's shoulders. He shifts his weight and gets Sebastian to turn to his side, then puts his left hand on his hip. Starts thrusting into him again, faster now, pulling in another deep breath. His finger dig deep into Sebastian's side, leaving bruises, as a tremor runs through him. Rasmussen gasps for breath, then slowly, slowly settles back down. He rests his forehead against Sebastian's sweaty shoulder, wraps his arm around him and pulls him close. "Sebastian."

"Yeah."

Rasmussen lets his hand slide down and starts stroking him. Under his touch, Sebastian hardens shockingly fast. Rasmussen kisses his neck, runs his fingers through Sebastian's hair, thumb sliding over his temple, warm breath grazing Sebastian's ear. Sebastian closes his eye, surrenders. Gasps while Rasmussen jerks him slowly, his thighs shaking. It happens fast. Rasmussen strokes him one final time, slowly, firmly from root to tip, and that's all it takes: Sebastian moans and twitches, spraying milky-white semen over Rasmussen's hand.

After a while, Rasmussen lets go of him, wiping his hand at the bed sheet. He rolls over to his back and pulls at Sebastian's shoulder. "Come here. Come to me."

It takes a moment for Sebastian to catch on. He pushes himself up on his hands and knees, shifts his weight to the left side so that he can lift his right knee and slide it over Rasmussen. He winces, realizing for the fist time how sticky and sore he actually is. Then Sebastian is straddling him, looking down at Rasmussen the same way Rasmussen is looking up at him.

"You have to be careful," Rasmussen says. "These camps, in Germany, they …" He shakes his head, searching for the right words. "Men, who … homosexuals. They were sent there too. Not only Jews. Many died there. Be careful."

"I know." The word reverberates inside him. _Homosexuals._ He hasn't known it before, but Rasmussen has.

"Do you promise."

"I do."

"Promise me."

"I promise."

"Yes. Good. Now come here." Rasmussen pulls him down until Sebastian is lying half on top of him, his thigh on Rasmussen's hips and stomach, held in Rasmussen's arm. Sebastian hids his face against Rasmussen's shoulder. Tastes warm skin under his lips, salt and sweat.

Rasmussen turns his head. "When it's over. When you go home. You don't look back." With his free hand, he touches Sebastian's forehead, traces his hairline. "Don't look back."

"I won't."

Rasmussen kisses him, kisses him again, urgently, for a long time. Finally he sighs, turning his head to stare at the ceiling.

Sebastian doesn't know how long they keep lying there. He only knows he has to hold on to this moment, to everything he feels. As Rasmussen eventually turns to his other side, Sebastian follows, snuggling against his back, and puts his arm around him. Rasmussen mutters something, too quiet to understand. His breaths deepen. Sebastian closes his eyes, listening into darkness and quiet.

He wakes at dawn. Gets out of bed while Rasmussen groans and turns on his back, throws on his clothes and leaves the house. Outside, he takes his clothes off again to clean himself under the hose before dressing properly. He waits, his back to the wall, until the others start to wake up.

**********

It's almost over, Rasmussen said. The last section, three thousand mines. A thousand.

Then it's actually almost over: while the fastest and most capable deminers among them disarm the remaining three dozen mines, the others load the truck.

It's almost over.

And then, a deafening blast.

**********

Rasmussen doesn't send them back to the beach, in the aftermath, instead he clears the rest of the beach by himself, even though that's strictly forbidden. Disarms another fourteen mines while they disassemble the bunk beds and gather the stuff the others left behind, all without saying a single word.

Sebastian sits in the yard, his back to the barn wall, wrapped in his blanket, until it's entirely dark, until Rasmussen comes to him on his nightly circuit and sits down beside him.

Sebaatian is at a loss for words. Any words. Tries to say something. Tries and tries and fails, as if his whole consists only of pieces of debris and ashes.

Rasmussen puts his arms around him, pulls him close until Sebastian's head rests on his shoulder. Sebastian buries his face in Rasmussen's uniform jacket. Grateful for this moment, grateful that Rasmussen is holding him.

Now that it's too late, he wants to ask Rasmussen so many things. Where he's from, whether he has a family. What happened to his right hand. If he's like Sebastian, and why he sleeps with him if he isn't. What Rasmussen is going to do once the beach has been cleared, if he'll be going home, and where that is.

He doesn't ask any of it.

He dozes off, leaning against Rasmussen's shoulder. At dawn, Rasmussen shakes him awake. "Sebastian."

It takes him a moment get his bearings. Rasmussen keeps sitting next to him, while Sebastian blinks into the lightening sky and runs a hand over his face.

At last, he looks at Rasmussen.

Rasmussen cups his cheek. Touches Sebastian's cheekbone with his thumb. Leans in and kisses his brow, lips cracked and dry, a touch Sebastian feels at his very core.

Rasmussen lets go of him. He gets up, then walks away across the yard.

**********

It's not Rasmussen who gives them the news, but that other Dane, Jensen. Dazed, they get into the military verhicle that brings them to Skallingen, wherever that is. While they are rolling through the military camp at walking pace, Sebastian hears Rasmussen's voice, in Danish, from the officer's tent, raised in anger.

On the road, they keep silent. Helmut looks at him, nothing but despair in his eyes. Not even fury. Maybe a bit of scorn. "You really thought he was going to keep his word, didn't you?"

Sebastian looks at him, then lowers his head. Stays mute.

**********

Work has barely started. The very first day, and already a mine has gone off in another section. The deminer got lucky, didn't lose any limbs, but he's been sent to the field hospital with severe burns.

Another beach, another barrack, and Sebastian misses, with acute misery, the plain, gray farm house and the blonde little girl with her doll, the black and white dog hunting rabbits in the dunes.

As they are told, later that day, that they'll be redeployed elsewhere, neither of them knows what to make of it. Nobody tells them their new destination. They get into the vehicle, which immediately leaves. Sebastian exchanges a glance with Helmut, who simply shrugs.

Cautiously, Sebastian tries to peer out from under the cover, but the driver's cabin is hidden from view.

The trip takes three hours, maybe four; they don't stop. Rodolf pisses from the load floor, somewhere along the road. They drive through the inland, south, maybe east, it's hard to keep track of the serpentine roads.

As the vehicle finally stops, Sebastian has dozed off and sits up with a start. They look at each other. It's very quiet outside, but finally they hear footsteps and the cover is pulled back. Daylight floods the interior. Rasmussen is standing in front of them.

Looks at each of them in turn. "All of you, get out."

They stare at him.

"Come on, get out."

They're parked on the road, in the middle of nowhere, no house in sight, no nothing. Sebastian looks around, just like the others, then turns to Rasmussen who points south. "That way. It's maybe five hundred meters to the border. You'll be back in Germany then. Run."

He stares at Rasmussen with a growing sense of bewilderment. Doesn't really understand what is happening.

"Run!"

They start moving. For a brief moment, Sebastian glances back at Rasmussen. Their gazes meet. And while Rasmussen looks tired, there's also something soft his eyes as he watches Sebastian go. He nods, almost imperceptibly.

Sebastian starts running after the others, across the meadow toward the forest. While running, it occurs to him that it might be a trap, but the thought remains fleeting and insubstantial.

 _Don't look back._ Sebastian does it anyway, one last time, stops and looks back at Rasmussen. Wonders if he should wave his hand. Wonders if Rasmussen acted on orders, or if he'll get into serious trouble. Asks himself what awaits them on the other side, where everything lies in ruins.

_Don't look back._

Sebastian starts running again.

**********

He does look back, though: later, in the years following the war. He returns to the farm house at the beach, the moments he can't forget, amidst terror and fear and hunger. Takes a deep breath in the dark and remembers: Rasmussen's smell. His voice. His hand in Sebastian's hair.

Sebastian looks back. He thinks of Rasmussen.

And just like Rasmussen, he keeps his promise.

**Author's Note:**

> Seeing as there's no real fandom for this movie (though there definitely should be), I'd be overjoyed if you'd consider leaving a review. You can also find me on tumblr as [Uniwolfwerecorn](https://uniwolfwerecorn.tumblr.com/).


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